It's September and I need a roommate. I couldn't live in the dorms anymore. I was fed up of being paired with idiots. I was done sharing my kitchen and my bathroom with an entire floor. When I signed the lease for my apartment, I did it with the guy...
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It's September and Holt hurt his arm while training last week and he's been useless around the apartment ever since. He hasn't gone grocery shopping because he doesn't want to carry the bags back home.
When I come back from one of my classes and find that I'm out of basically everything I head straight to the living room where Holt is lounging, watching TV.
"I need to go to the grocery and you're coming with me," I announce.
"Nah fam, I'm staying right here," he replies, not even looking my way.
"You ate all of my food."
"Don't know what you're talking about," he says and shoves a cookie in his mouth.
"You're literally eating my cookies right now," I tell him, annoyed.
He grins. "You've got delicious taste, Boo."
I switch the TV off. He switches it on again. We do this a few times.
Finally, Holt caves in and follows me to the door. He's wearing stupid duck slippers that quack when he walks. He took pictures of ducks a couple of months ago and some start-up company sent him these and he's wearing them all the time. All I can think about is, we've come a long way from the dude that was scared of making the microwave ding.
"Put some damn shoes on," I groan.
"You want me to come? I'm not getting out of those slippers." Yeah, I really do want to make you come. Jeeeeeeesus Eliah.
I give up arguing.
When we get to the grocery store, I'm pushing the shopping cart six feet in front of him trying to keep the distance between us.
"I don't know you, we are not friends," I mumble. He's wearing slippers, goddamn slippers. I can't believe him. They quack!
He's laughing like a maniac behind me, easily keeping up. And it's like he's getting a kick out of making a scene like a diva. I'm usually the queen, I'm definitely rubbing off on him and not the way I would have wanted.
And then he keeps throwing ridiculous stuff in our cart like cheese in a can and pig's tongues and Peeps. I keep having to put things back on the shelves. And Holt puts them back in the cart again.
"Why do you keep putting Peeps in the cart?" I whine, "you're not even going to eat them!" With the stupid training regiment he follows, there's no way I'll ever catch him eating Peeps.
He shrugs. "I can play with them."
Oh my god. And then, he digs in his hoodie pocket and shoves chips in his mouth. The idiot grabbed a handful when we were in the self serve bin section and he's been snacking on them ever since.
"Stop eating the fucking chips," I whine.
He spreads his arms like a fucking drama queen. "You have no control over my body." Yeah, if I had control over his body, he wouldn't be talking right now because he would have his mouth full. Also, now he's doubling in pain while also laughing at his stupid ass, holding onto his hurt bicep.
And I can't help being annoyed with him, but also fall a little bit deeper into the rabbit hole once again. He's ruining me, that Holt.
